


Culture Shock

by StarlightOnInk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AmeRus - Freeform, Cultural Differences, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, RusAme, waiting for spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightOnInk/pseuds/StarlightOnInk
Summary: A tendency to doubt the good that comes his way makes it easy for Russia to misinterpret some of the things America does. It doesn’t help when your cultural approaches to certain actions are very different.





	Culture Shock

**Author's Note:**

> When baring emotions is a precious thing, displaying them is something to do with great consideration. Russia has a very different outlook than America on how to project what you feel and when, and this leads to some significant misunderstandings.

Synopsis: A tendency to doubt the good that comes his way makes it easy for Russia to misinterpret some of the things America does. It doesn’t help when your cultural approaches to certain actions are very different.

**Culture Shock**

It had been a fast discovery for America, learning about Russia’s relentless pessimism. It made itself apparent when Alfred was still just that upstart giving the British Empire an unparalleled headache. That was when Russia’s eyes danced with open amusement as he provided support and even a listening ear to the American- but always something else danced in those sunset eyes. It was a wariness, a hesitancy warning Russia against getting too used to any degree of comfort, of closeness.

That look morphed from measured caution to stubborn disbelief, almost to the point of cynicism, over the next few centuries. It went from being an unwelcome blemish in Ivan’s eyes to a feature as omnipresent as his beloved scarf. And just as strong a defense mechanism.

But for how constant that relentless doubt had become, when America and Russia began pursuing their relationship in earnest, America was determined to wipe away that fear of believing in permanent happiness. Slowly, very slowly, America chipped away at the wall of security Ivan has built, reveling in every instance Ivan was unable to force down a genuine smile, his most beautiful expression, precious in its sincerity. America accepted each look as a triumph. Even so, it all seemed too tenuous for either of their likings.

  
Russia was a cautious man.

The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.

Sage words by one of Russia’s most renowned writers, dear Lev Tolstoy, had long been the basis for how Ivan operated. Happiness was a treasure, delicate, often transient. Ivan had developed in his heart a steadfast belief of his very own that someday that eternal happiness he so sought would be achieved.

But not today. Not yet. Some indefinite amount of tomorrows from now, he would lift his gaze to finally witness a secure joy that no force from within or without could rid him of.

Someday. But probably not today.

In times of hardship, he would remind himself This too shall pass. That same mantra was privately understood even at the height of his happiness, including now, while he and America mended their relationship and made it something more beautiful than even before the suspicion and threats.

Russia had at first not understood the looks America gave him when the cessation of their fighting came about. But it transpired he was very familiar with them indeed.

Realization had hit him, hard and fast, after a lunch he, America, France, and England had all shared one afternoon some years past. England had busied himself with interrogating their waitress on all possible dressings available for his dish while France regarded his fellow diners with open interest over the rim of his wine glass. Russia had met America’s eye for a moment that could have lasted the rest of the afternoon. An interruption came in the form of France’s broad, elated smile and his hushed coo of, “Ah, it is back.”

“What is?”

But France had waved away their inquiries, letting his eyes remain on Russia for a beat longer before redirecting his attention to England. After their meal, America had taken a moment to catch up with England, talking and beaming and animated as ever. In the moment of privacy, France had stepped up beside Russia with that same achingly gentle approval as before. “I am happy for you,” he had said in his voice of warm cocoa. “It is good to see that look again. It’s been gone for…too long.” Something sad had filled those blue pools, painting them with…could it have been…regret? Remorse?

An unspoken apology.

It had been later that night that Russia pieced it together, and the realization seemed to knock the wind right out of him. Of course. Back in his days as an empire, following Francis around, studying up to engage in long discussions of Voltaire and the like. Nervousness and self-doubt had quickly morphed to awe and open adoration, and from there to unmistakable…

Love.

Unrequited.

Oh, he was sure France had loved him back then, for Francis could not help but love- it seemed to him more vital than the very air he breathed, for he would no longer want such air if a single breath was drawn in a world without love. But while Russia, in his excitement and inexperience, had thrown himself into feelings of romantic infatuation, France’s affections were different, more characteristic of fondness, deep platonic caring. They both walked the same road that ended in a fork, and down diverging paths they each went.

But the fact remained that Russia had known love, and felt love, let himself be wrapped in its suffocating hold and let out with every breath. And not until recently could Francis, with such a keen eye for such things, spot that look of achingly open love in Russia once more.

Russia gave a small smile.

I do love him. And I have told him.

Beside him now, America gave him a sharp nudge. “Something funny, big guy? Let me in on the joke.”

Russia roused himself from his thoughts- so often a sad dwelling. “You are going to ruin the store’s inventory. They will be out of business because of you.”

America drummed his fingers against the handle of the shopping cart laden with items from every single isle and section within those isles. “Nah, broski, I’m fueling the economy. I’ll be this place’s hero.” With a slight heave, America pushed the cart up to the register, Russia following beside him. He was granted a clear view of the winning smile America flashed the cashier, one that would be right at home in a Hollywood action film.

Russia’s own smile fell, right with his stomach.

“Thanks for bagging,” the cashier said as Russia mutely squeezed by America to begin loading his numerous purchases. Russia said nothing, unable to produce anything civil when he witnessed the peppy grin the cashier rewarded America, his Alfred, with- as if she had any right. Russia’s thin lips pressed into an even thinner line.

“Thanks, man,” Alfred said warmly, letting his arm rub flush against Ivan’s in gratitude. Russia felt sure he could feel the warmth of America’s skin through the fabric of his shirt. Some of his earlier trepidation faltered, and Russia replied with a small nod and equally small smile. America beamed. It was different than the one he graced the store employee with, laced with something more. Ivan always considered America’s smiles for him to be treasures. Alfred’s special smiles, brought to his face by the unfathomable (to Ivan) cause of Ivan himself.

He tried to remember this as he and America went about the rest of their day together, for he needed that strength.

Watching from afar as rivals, it was easier to play off the nasty churning in his stomach as a loathing to see his adversary joyful. Now, there was no excusing Russia’s blatant jealousy. His normally pristine posture gradually wilted as America granted stranger after stranger his prized smiles. Certainly Ivan was privy to them on a more regular basis, but it was simply inconceivable that America was giving those looks away with the same frequency he gave them to his lover.

It made Russia’s status feel…insubstantial.

0o0o0

“Something wrong, babe?” America asked over dinner, carefully eyeing Russia from over the plate of steaming steak he was slowly cutting.

“Why do you do that?” Ivan asked without preamble, without even really deciding he wanted to discuss this.

“Do what?” America asked, bringing a chunk of meat to his mouth and chewing.

Ivan opened his mouth to speak, but just then their waiter came over and asked how their food was. Swallowing quickly, Alfred beamed and gave a brief rundown of all the reasons their meal was the best. The waiter chuckled, returning the smile, causing America’s to grow before he strode off. America turned his attention back to Russia.

“That,” Russia said in a sad rumble. “Do you two know each other well?” he added slowly, his entire form seeming to droop.

“Well, he is American- he’s one of mine, so it feels like I know him.”

“But in a more traditional sense,” Ivan countered. “Are you that close with him?”

America blinked, lashes fluttering behind his glasses. “Uuuh, can’t say I met him before today.”

Russia tried not to bristle. Failed. He took a deep sip of his drink. Let it reinforce his resolve. Only when his glass was replaced on the table did he speak up. “Then…I am not that special.”

America looked astounded, eyes doubling in size, and oh, it made it so very tempting to forget his hurt, rush across the table, and kiss all around those perfect pools of blue. But there seemed little point, suddenly. “What are you talking about? You’re the most special person in my life.” The sincerity Alfred managed to put into those words was admirable for how at odds they were with his actions. “I’ve never and will never meet another person like you, Evie.” His gaze darkened unexpectedly. “Listen, whatever garbage your boss might be saying about y-”

“It is not that,” Russia cut in hurriedly. They tended to know just how much politics to discuss together and treaded that line rather well- but after learning the extent of Ivan’s past mistreatment by some leaders, Alfred was never really able to keep himself quiet.

“I mean,” Russia began again, eyes flashing as he willed himself to see this through. He glanced around, sighing. “I mean…I get the same treatment as all of these strangers. I thought we were something more than…” He let the sentence trail off.

Alfred looked utterly nonplussed. “Last I checked I don’t go kissing strangers, or turning up at their house with their favorite flowers, or think about them whenever I look at the stars, or…or see some shade of purple during the day and think how I can find that same color in some stranger’s eyes.” America’s tanned fingers were now playing relentlessly with his cloth napkin, ears reddening.

Russia dropped his gaze for a moment, thrown, before looking back up. “Da, but…” He took a short breath. “You give these people you do not even know such beautiful smiles. Even for the smallest of things, without any words exchanged. I wanted to think only I could get those.” By the time he finished, Ivan’s voice was but a defeated mumble.

He heard the scrape of the chair legs against the floor as America came to crouch beside him. Russia sighed, cradling his head in his hands, elbows rested on the table, looking determinedly anywhere but at Alfred. The American was making that a difficult feat.

Especially when his lips brushed against Ivan’s cheek, burning the flesh there.

“Gorgeous,” America said in a soft yet somber voice. “I promise you get a smile of your very own. Cause the ones you get…all those others- they’re just out of…politeness. I like showing people how happy I am, or trying to make them feel happy.”

“And I get the exact same thing, so clearly I am not import-”

“Shush,” America interrupted, the tips of his fingers grazing Ivan’s lips. Ivan turned to send him a defiant look, but Alfred plowed on, never one to be deterred by that expression. “But when I’m with you, and I get to see you, and how special and beautiful you are, and know that I get the privilege of calling you my boyfriend- Evie, I can’t help but smile.”

Ivan’s face had not blatantly shifted from his defiant look from before, but his earlier fire had rekindled to something else entirely- a hesitant yet unshakable desire to believe each and every word that was said. Encouraged, America wrapped his arms around his still seated lover. “One of these days you have to believe me when I say how wonderful I think you are, and feel it for yourself,” he said over the crown of Russia’s head. “I promise on…on…the Space Station, this is special to me, you’re special, and all I want is for this to work and for you to be happy.”

There was a pause.

“No rebuttal?” Alfred teased gently.

Pause.

“Evie?”

A soft, slightly wet sniff sounded in reply.

Russia glared ahead from his spot in America’s arms, pale lashes fluttering, fighting down the faint burning in his eyes. “Sentimental American,” he muttered.

Alfred grinned, hugging him closer. “Aw, shucks. You’re not allowed to cry unless you believe me.”

Russia stared stubbornly ahead still, trying to hunch his shoulders. “You throw smiles around without a second thought,” he protested faintly, almost determined to find some fault in this whole situation, in Alfred’s earnesty.

“It’s polite.”

“It undermines how special they are, how special the recipient is, if anyone can receive it.”

America’s face twisted in disagreement. He did not release his hold on Russia. “Not here, broski. Here you’re a rude recluse who probably gives out rocks on Halloween if you don’t smile to everyone.” He paused, at last drawing back and leaning down, scrutinizing his makeshift captive. “Wait, is that all this is? Some cultural misunderstanding?”

At last, Russia turned, face stony. “My children and I only smile when it is meant, and never mind rocks on Halloween,” he explained, blinking owlishly. “It is less courteous to throw around such expressions of happiness when they are not felt.”

America gave a shaky laugh of relief, returning to hugging Russia against his chest, ignoring the other man’s shifting and tugging. “Oh, thank Steve Rogers! Vanya, babe, sweetheart, I swear again on the Space Station, me smiling at strangers- that’s just me being an American. When I smile to you, that’s the luckiest man on earth telling the most beautiful boyfriend how happy he is to be together.” His words were followed by a long, wet kiss on the cheek. America could feel how warm the skin had become when he lips pressed against it, and his giddy laughter bubbled up once more.

Russia continued trying halfheartedly to break free, but an unmistakable tugging could be felt at the corners of his lips.

“Come on, lemme see it!” America cheered in a silly manner, proceeding to pepper kisses all over Russia’s face, on his cheeks, below his eyes, at the tip of his protuberant nose. At last, Ivan gave a smile, albeit reluctantly.

“And this is the smile of a man whose boyfriend is sleeping on the couch tonight,” he promised, fighting down his smile just long enough to send Alfred a solemn look.

Alfred did not yield. “Alright,” he conceded. “But I’m willing to bet that man has a fondness for cuddles and will be joining his boyfriend on the couch in no time.”

“Ahem.”

Their waiter stood before them, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, notepad in hand.

“I have the best boyfriend,” was all America said in explanation, resting his chin atop Ivan’s head of soft platinum hair. “Mine.”

And for tonight, Russia let himself believe wholeheartedly that perhaps irrefutable joy was attainable, that today he had something that could last, that the warm arms that opened so readily for him would always be there.

He wasn’t aware at the time, but even America felt he had chipped away at yet another bit of that barrier of doubt.

And it was just as beautiful as the look Ivan had worn when he’d said all those truthful things about him.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday fic for coloredglobe on tumblr. Check out Globe’s blogs for some absolutely stellar art, posts, insights and more. It’s a unique art style that brings such new life to the characters.


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